


when you say it's gonna happen now (well, when exactly did you mean?)

by missi



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, gaymos at the whonow, pop off a cork 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missi/pseuds/missi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i almost retitled this to "you've never read this story before (you've read this story a thousand times)" when i realized it was a hack job on a number of recognizable bandom stories i've read before -- which didn't happen until i was halfway through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you say it's gonna happen now (well, when exactly did you mean?)

Brendon's got the best spot in the world. He thinks that quite possibly he hasn't had a spot this good for the entirety of this tour's ongoing game of hide and seek. He's curled up against the back door of their equipment van, and he's being totally quiet -- humming counts as being quiet.  
  
Once he realises he's hummed his way through the entirety of their second album (and he doesn't even _like_ **Burst Through Oh Yeah** that much; that album was Spencer's baby), Brendon thinks maybe they've given up on finding him and called the game. He holds his breath and pulls the door handle, is just about to push the door wide when he hears a snicker and accompanying "A ha!", and then there's someone pulling on the door from the outside.  
  
Brendon wraps both hands around the edge of the door and holds fast -- he isn't found, he _isn't_. His knuckles are turning white, but he remembers to bite his tongue before calling out, "I am not found, I do not surrender!"  
  
The swearing coming from outside the door is definitely Ryan's, and Ryan had been It (why does Pete let _outsiders_ play anyway, Brendon thinks crossly, Ryan's not in a _band_ ), so Brendon keeps tugging, and then.  
  
++++  
  
Brendon, hopped up on a double dose of Vicodin and a couple of hits off Jon's spliff, sort of stares at Ryan and then bursts out with "you broke both of my hands! Ryan Ross, you broke my _hands_." He doesn't even break his gaze when Jon wraps an afghan around his shoulders before dropping to the ground to fiddle with one of his four thousand cameras, like does the magazine require him to have that many.  
  
Ryan laughs, actually laughs. "Brendon, you broke your own hands. _Really_ , you thought putting your hands around the edge of the door was a good idea?"  
  
Brendon's sure it had been a good idea at the time. Also, that's kind of mean, and his feelings are hurt for a second before he remembers that he's kind of disturbingly in love with Ryan Ross and thusly would forgive him for...well, probably for killing puppies and definitely for breaking his hands.  
  
He turns to Spencer and pouts plaintively, "Spence, Ryan sucks. Ryan broke my hands, Spencer. Spencerrrr. You should be _mad_ , Spencer, I use these hands to make music. Our music! Mine and yours! Ryan doesn't care about our _music_ , Spencer."  
  
Spencer pets Brendon's head and goes back to his conversation about why the wedding should be in Vegas -- Brendon can only catch snippets, things about strippers! parties! high rollin'! -- instead of Chicago, where Jon and Cassie's families, not to mention Cassie herself, reside. Ryan sticks his tongue out at Brendon, who makes a shocked face before returning the gesture and sighing like a little girl, internally, of course.  
  
They're in a lewd and suggestive face competition when Jon mentions dinner. Brendon stares woefully at his hands and vocally mourns his ideal dinner of a sandwich so big it needs _two hands_ , but he doesn't even have ONE he can eat with, _Ryan Ross_.  
  
Ryan continues to contend that Brendon's the idiot in the situation. From their smug grins and avoidant eyes, Brendon can tell that Jon and Spencer agree with Ryan, and he has never felt so betrayed in his life. Clearly this is Ryan's fault. Ryan must make penance.  
  
"Ryan Ross, you must make penance." Brendon does his best to sound stern and adorable at once as he sidles up to Ryan with a "you'll feed me, won't you, you wouldn't want me to pass out--" (and he's sure to raise his voice here, make sure everyone hears) "--because you're a dickface and refused to make sure I was fed in a time when I could not feed myself?"  
  
Jon snickers openly, and Spencer goes up front to ask the driver to stop for Chinese takeout without even _asking_ anyone. Ryan ignores Brendon completely and goes back to debating the values of scarlet with himself. He's not sure about Jon's coloring.  
  
++++  
  
When Zack brings the food back onto the bus, Brendon reaches for his box of green beans and tells the others that yeah, they're fucking funny when they laugh at the carton slipping through his gigantic, bandaged ... well, mitts is pretty much the best word for it. He frowns first at the flaps on the box and then harder at the chopsticks, and then he kicks Ryan hard in the calf.  
  
Spencer barely manages to pull a face and says, "Now, Ryan, you know it's not nice to laugh at the disabled," and gestures towards Brendon's take out. Ryan rolls his eyes at Brendon's truly stupid pouting face and puts the first green bean up to his lips, and by this time, Jon and Spencer are both _snorting_ and _crying_ into their mei fun and foo yung, respectively. It's good they're acting as equals then, as Brendon's pretty sure he hates them both equally.  
  
But he does love Ryan _best_. Well, Brendon loves Ryan best anyway, for with Ryan comes ... well, nothing yet, but there's totally going to be a future in which with Ryan comes blowjobs and late night talks about the future and all that shit, there is a _reason_ why he is saving himself for Ryan Ross (well. sort of.) and Ryan will plan their wedding, and Spencer will be Ryan's best man, and ... and, well, Brendon's kind of thinking off topic now. At this moment, he loves Ryan best because Ryan is ...shoving a chopstick up his nose.  
  
Brendon is offended. If Ryan is going to feed him, he should at least pay attention. He decides to say so.  
  
"Watch it with the chopsticks! I am a delicate, wounded flower!"  
  
Ryan drones something about how operating one pair of chopsticks sucks but two is excruciating and Brendon is damn lucky he _just so happens_ to have been born ambidextrous.  
  
Spencer leans into Jon and murmurs, "He wasn't born that way. He practiced jerking off with both hands when we were kids. ...We've been best friends for a really long time, yeah." Jon snaps a picture of Brendon swatting at Ryan with his ...hands just as Brendon wonders how Jon and Spencer have managed to eat at all. He's afraid they'd choke if they tried to swallow and, y'know, laugh horribly at his misfortune all at once.  
  
It would be really hard to replace Spencer. He and Spencer have been performing together for years! **We're the Smiths, Too** (widely known as **Smiths2** ) are kind of a big deal, the duo is sort of opening, sort of co-headlining the _It's Always the Future Somewhere_ tour for Fall Out Boy's sixth and final album _It Will Still Be Tomorrow (When the World Ends)_. Besides, Brendon likes the mystique of his and Spencer's relationship too much. No one knows if they're married or if they're brothers. If Spencer died, he'd have to finally give up the truth, and he's just not ready to do that.  
  
And Jon...well, Brendon can take pictures. Maybe _Rolling Stone_ would like pictures taken by the musician better, huh? Jon can choke.  
  
Jon just stares pointedly at Brendon's ...mitts.  
  
"Point, Jon Walker. A mighty point."  
  
Spencer is _right there_ with the "that's what she said."  
  
++++  
  
The tour ends, Brendon has to sing exactly three shows with mitts for hands and a tech on his beloved guitars, and Spencer can't count how many times he's had to hear the count.  
  
"It was three shows, Brendon. Your hands are going to heal fine, fucker, the doctors told you that, so shut up already, Jesus." Spencer rests back in his plastic airport chair and holds his boarding pass, closes his eyes.  
  
Brendon's just trying not to think about what cabin pressure is going to do to his poor broken hands. He decides to ignore Spencer and turns to Jon and Ryan, who are deep in discussion across from them. Jon and Cassie's wedding is eight weeks away, and Ryan is still fussing over what the wedding party will wear. He holds different shades of grey up to Jon's beard and Brendon is _already_ bored from watching.  
  
Just as he's about to turn back to Spencer and plead with him to get him a Coke with a straw, please, please Spencer, and hold it so that I can drink it, however, it gets interesting. Jon tells Ryan, "Just pick already, seriously, we have to get this shit ordered, I don't care as long as it's not _purple_."  
  
Brendon freezes, and he can feel Spencer lean forward in blatant interest. Ryan sniffs regally and refuses to look at Jon for exactly ten and a half seconds.  
  
"Well, of course it won't be purple, Tom doesn't look his best in purple," Ryan tells the ground, and Brendon, oh, he forgives Ryan for the hands and everything in the universe and he must jump in to rescue this here, now. He bats his eyelashes at Jon and says, "Oh, Jon, of course I would never wear purple at your wedding, not at your side, you should never think such a thing, and I will be happy in whatever Ryan picks, though I do adore lavender and not so much maroon. Wait. Did you say Tom?"  
  
And Jon kind of looks at Spencer, and Spencer kind of looks at Ryan, and Ryan kind of looks at Brendon, and Brendon looks over at the kiosk where they seem to be selling delicious ice cold fountain Cokes. "Brendon, of course Tom is the best man. You didn't seriously..." Jon trails off and looks at his hands.  
  
Brendon knows, of course, that Tom is the best man, he's Jon's best friend after all, but he's saving Ryan here, so he bites back a laugh and drops his jaw and says, "Oh, Jon Walker, I thought after all that time on tour together that we had something special!"  
  
Ryan has stopped looking at the floor and stares at Brendon with a quirk to one side of his mouth. "Brendon, how will you pass him the ring?"  
  
That's it. Brendon hates Ryan Ross. Why had he even been on tour with them, couldn't he have planned the wedding from home? Couldn't Spencer have better best friends who were...uglier and less bitchy and possibly even female and so completely not Brendon's type in any way? He wants so badly to punch Spencer in the arm for good measure in that moment, there aren't even words to describe it, but he can't. Fucking Ross.  
  
"I remember when you were just a _stylist_ for _Modern Bride_ , asshole, shut the fuck up."  
  
"I remember when you were just a _virgin_ who _couldn't drive_ , you shut the fuck up."  
  
Brendon wills pigtails to sprout from the sides of Ryan's head so that he can pull them, seriously, he hates _himself_.  
  
++++  
  
"I hate myself," Brendon tries not to wail as he says it, but he doesn't think he's completely successful. He throws himself face first onto Spencer's bed, narrowly avoiding the open suitcase and muffles the rest of his "I hate myself"s.  
  
"I told you we could do the 'El Scorcho' cover at the last show, you said no. You have your own apartment, with your own roommate to whom you can whine about Ryan, and I have been on tour with you for eight weeks, plus, y'know, my whole life, and I really think it would be in your best interest if you would get out of my house now. Right now." Spencer snaps the suitcase shut inches away from Brendon's nose with a threatening motion, and hey, Brendon can take a hint.  
  
"I can take a hint. I'm going to go sleep for thirty-seven hours in my bed, which is approximately seven times the size of that bunk." Brendon gingerly pushes himself up from Spencer's soft, so very soft bed and heads for the front door. "My keys are in the dog bowl?"  
  
Spencer calls a sound of affirmation after him, and Brendon reaches for his keys, then pauses and yells, "You _fucker_ , you know I can't drive myself home!"  
  
Spencer can barely get his response out between breathless laughs. "The point is that you - forgot - you - couldn't."  
  
Brendon definitely hates Spencer more than he hates himself. He looks up to see Haley giggling in the kitchen, and he is hurt, he likes her. "Mean, Haley. Will you take me home as apology?"  
  
"What, Spencer won't let you cry to him about Ryan anymore? I guess I owe it to you, I paid for the privilege last month." Haley loops her arm around Brendon's shoulder and picks up his keys, tiara keychain glittering, from the steel dog bowl on a table next to the condo's front door. "Spencer, you have to follow," she calls up the stairs.  
  
Haley makes appropriate noises of sympathy, surprise, etc as Brendon chatters to her on the drive to the place where Shane, Dylan, and his bed are waiting for him, thank you, Jesus. Brendon realises just as he's getting up to the part of his Ryan Ross Is As Slow As The Glaciers Before Global Warming, Before, I Say rant that goes "Ryan Ross is as slow as the glaciers before global warming, _before_ , I say" that Haley's mouthing the words along with him, and he's pretty sure he hasn't got one single friend in the world.  
  
"You're all against me."  
  
"Believe me, honey, we're not. We're really, really not. (They're fourteen hundred dollars not, but she keeps that part to herself.) What do you want me to say? I'm sorry that you finally found a pair of pants that accentuate your johnson and Ryan still didn't notice? That you forgave him for breaking your hands in an incident that was mostly your fault anyway and Ryan still didn't bend you over the nearest cocktail table and fuck you on the spot? Brendon, even Spencer, who is _loathe_ to talk about it, like, at all, wants that for you and for Ryan. Mostly so that you'll shut the fuck up, I think." Haley's sort of really good at shifting and gesturing and being preachy all at once. Brendon is in awe. He understands not for the first time why the two things Spencer loves most in life are Haley and cake. Brendon is mostly okay with coming in third to cake.  
  
(The cake tastings were the only part of the wedding planning process that Spencer expressed any true and simple joy over.)  
  
Shane takes one look at Brendon's hands and has to put his head between his knees to keep from passing out from _laughing_ , like, to whom does that actually happen? Haley kisses Brendon's cheek and hands Shane his keys. "Be nice to Shane now, Brendon, at least ask him how he's doing before launching into your Ross diatribe, okay?" Spencer nods a hello to Shane and dumps Brendon's bags just inside the door.  
  
"Urie, I don't want to see you before Jon's wedding. Or at least Wednesday. Please don't let me see your face before Wednesday." Brendon, for the record, is pretty sure he'll still be asleep on Wednesday.  
  
Shane is cheerful as he says, "I'd offer to handcuff him to the bed, but I'm pretty sure even my kinkiest cuffs won't accommodate those gloves, champ." He claps Brendon on the back and pushes him towards his room, and Brendon mumbles about his feather bed and down comforter and down pillows, like floating on air, and how nice it would be to have Ryan's head on the pillow opposite. He cuts off the snickers behind him by pausing midstride to say, "I'm rolling my eyes at myself, okay, don't even start."  
  
++++  
  
It just so happens that the doctor absolutely _refuses_ to remove Brendon's casts in time for Jon's wedding, no matter who Brendon and millions of girls and dudes think he is. (What really happens is that the doctor asks Brendon kindly and honestly whether or not he ever wants to play the guitar, piano, violin, kazoo, etc again, and he _has_ to say yes.) So, mitts for the wedding. Cassie's face is the most spectacular combination of horrified and amused when Spencer breaks the news. Brendon is too busy burying his face in Ryan's shoulder and begging him to hide him from Cassie's mother, who is not going to appreciate this at all, to be the one to tell her. Ryan, for his part, is nicely tolerating Brendon and exchanging a flurry of texts with ... **pete** , Brendon peeks.  
  
Not that anyone has to actually _tell_ Cassie. She has eyes that work perfectly well. "Oh, Brendon, I."  
  
"Ross did it."  
  
Ryan moves to push Brendon away, but Brendon holds as firm as he can, he's gotten surprisingly good at continuing to act on his lemur like impulses without hands. Ryan still owes him big time, or something. He grins widely and says, " _And_ Ross is going to pose us in all the pictures so that when you show them to your grandkids, your adorable friend Bden will not have these ...hands. Aren't you, Ryan?" And while some might consider Brendon's next action to be nuzzling, he would contend to his last breath that it was not, and also, he had an itch on his forehead, okay.  
  
Whatever, Ryan at least pets his shoulder before shoving him off, so really, it's a win.  
  
Cassie spins in her dress slowly while Ryan makes clucking noises and spans her waist with his forever long fingers, Brendon dreams about those sometimes, but ugh, not in any manner that applies to Cassie and he lets out a yelp and shudders before he can help himself. "I'm gonna go be manly with Jon and Tom now, okay, so that's where I'll be."  
  
He passes some photographers he recognizes from shows they've played and doesn't quite manage to stop himself before he waves. Brendon has never, ever been so glad for the privacy contracts on these weddings maybe ever. He bursts through the door to the lounge where he'd last seen Jon, Tom, and Spencer teething unlit cigars and pretending to be dudes and shrills, "Oh my god, it's Spencer Smith! And Tom Conrad! It's like Rolling Stone come to life!" Another win when Tom's cigar lands no less than three feet from its point of origin. Brendon is on a _roll_. Granted, it would have been more impressive if he'd managed to get Jon or Spencer, but he hasn't been able to properly surprise Spencer since they were sixteen, so trying is really a lost cause.  
  
"So, who's got the scotch?" Brendon can totally do manly. Jon makes a sheepish face, and Spencer snorts into his rocks glass, while Tom suddenly becomes very interested in the ceiling. "Jon, what happened to the scotch?"  
  
Silence makes Brendon antsy. He can forgive Tom, he doesn't know better, but Jon and Spencer _do_ know better, oh do they. Unlit cigars be damned, he launches himself at the cushy sofa where Jon and Spencer are lounging with loosened ties and mussed hair like a couple of frat boys. "Scotch, Jon? That nice bottle of Blue the magazine sent. Do want."  
  
Spencer can't seem to bite his tongue any longer and gets out "Jon can't drink it, he's a pus--" before Jon slaps a hand over his mouth. Even _Brendon_ can drink scotch, he feels victorious and raises his arms over his head. He doesn't even care that it looks ridiculous with the mitts. "I am a _man_. I am _the_ man."  
  
It's not Brendon's fault that he's at his least manly when _someone_ creeps up behind him and runs a hand over his back, and he is still _totally_ the man regardless of the shriek Ryan forces him to let out. He topples back off Spencer and Jon's knees and into Ryan's before he hits the floor. Brendon peers up at Ryan's grin and asks, "Are you done feeling Cassie up?"  
  
"Are you done giving Jon and Spencer a lap dance?"  
  
Tom coughs into his apparently not scotch and excuses himself to find his girlfriend, surely she must be looking for him by now, while Ryan helps Brendon up from the carpet.  
  
Ryan settles into Tom's vacated chair and props his long legs up on the ottoman. Brendon finds it only fair that Ryan share with him, so he shoves Ryan's feet over and perches on the edge of the small stool. Ryan taps his foot against Brendon's back a couple of times before he asks, "Hey, Jon, didn't your editor send a bottle of scotch?"  
  
++++  
  
Brendon gives it one last ditch effort and calls his doctor the morning of the wedding. As expected, the doctor gives it another absolutely not and then asks to speak to Spencer. Spencer looks as perplexed as Brendon when he takes the phone, only to burst into laughter moments after his hello. He thumbs off the cell and pushes it back into Brendon's pocket, still laughing.  
  
"What? What? What, Spencer?"  
  
"He just wanted to suggest that if I ever got out of music, I should maybe consider medicine. He says I have the patience of a saint, and he wonders every day how I haven't killed you dead yet."  
  
"He didn't say that."  
  
Spencer just shrugs and straightens his tie in the mirror. Brendon likes the grey. It really is a good shade for Jon's beard. He can forgive the way it doesn't exactly compliment his hair for that. Yet another thing he's willing to forgive Ryan for, see? If Ryan could only see the way he loved him, maybe he would understand...  
  
"Please do not sing that. Brendon, I'm begging you, if you earworm me with that song--"  
  
Brendon's really got to learn how to make sure his filter to internal is on sometimes.  
  
"Spencer, that tuxedo thing has forty-two buttons. You have to help me." There's only so much that wiggling and aerobics will do to get the clothes onto Brendon's body. Brendon is impressed at the level to which Spencer can take a full body sigh, he must say, but he holds his pleading-yet-nonchalant face firm.  
  
"Just. Fine. Go get yours." Spencer holds a pair of black shoes in each hand and inspects each one carefully, nose to leather, as he dismisses him.  
  
Brendon loops his hands through the hangers and decides he'll send Spencer after the shoes later. He can't possibly be expected to pick them up, can he? It's enough that he has to carry this, it's a nearly impossible feat. This is not what his flexibility is for, he's saving that for Ryan (mostly.)  
  
When he gets back to Spencer's room, of course he's gone, and Brendon's stuck with his tuxedo in parts dangling from his forearms, just great. He pokes his head out into the hall and into Ryan's stomach. "Are you a fucking cat or something? I can never hear you coming."  
  
The pause is just a split second before they say it together, cadence word for word, "that's what she said."  
  
Ryan looks perfectly put together, but kind of harried. Which, Brendon guesses, is to be expected on wedding day when you're the wedding planner. But he just looks at Brendon while he laughs, then asks, "You need help with that?"  
  
Brendon wants to stop himself, he tries to bite his tongue, but he hasn't done any practicing with his internal filter in the two minutes since he last slipped with Spencer, so the "you just want to get me naked" is up and out before he can even think once, much less twice. He also can't stop himself from flailing backwards when Ryan pushes him back into Spencer's bedroom and follows, closes the door, checks it twice to be sure it's locked.  
  
"Maybe that's true."  
  
Ryan's looking at his hands on Brendon's waist as he says it, and Brendon...can't believe how bad Ryan is at this.  
  
"Very smooth, Ross." He makes a mournful noise, though, when he tries to reach for Ryan's belt and fails. "But I guess you win on smooth for today."  
  
Ryan winks, honest to god _winks_ , before folding to his knees. Now that, _that_ Ryan is good at. 9.7 for grace. No, wait, wait, this isn't-- "Wait. Up here." Brendon is kind of a girl about some things, okay, no matter what his reputation might be. And he's been--he wants to make sure this is what he's been waiting for. Ryan cocks an eyebrow and climbs to his feet.  
  
Brendon goes up on his toes and kisses Ryan without a word, quiet for once, but he doesn't close his eyes. Ryan does. That's nice. His eyelashes look just like Brendon thought they would this close. He pulls back, pushes his nose against Ryan's cheek and says, "Okay, you can blow me now." He jumps sideways when Ryan's hand at his waist becomes a vicious pinch. "Ow, _fucker_."  
  
"Just for that, I should never blow you _ever_ , asshole." But Ryan says it in the midst of another graceful knee fold (if Brendon makes it out of this alive, he's going to have to remember to ask _how_ he does that and can he teach him, please, he promises to only use it on Ryan, ever), so Brendon considers it yet another win on Ryan. He's got to start keeping a tally. Just as soon as he can put his brain back together.  
  
For the first time since the van door closed on his hands, Brendon misses them enough to feel more than few pangs, he wants to settle them in Ryan's hair, he can only bat them ineffectually against his shoulders as Ryan pulls his flannel pants off, sucks the tip of Brendon's cock into his mouth.  
  
Internal filter still off, Brendon babbles, "I am so glad I saved myself for you, Ryan Ross, I am so glad." He opens his eyes to find Ryan sitting back against his heels staring up at him incredulously.  
  
"I lived on your _bus_. You...Shane came to visit, he slept in your bunk! He...you were _fucking_ him, you." Ryan doesn't sound pissed, he's more on the edge of laughter, and Brendon has to put him in his place.  
  
"My _soul_ , Ryan, I have been saving my _self_ for you, jackass."  
  
Brendon is pretty proud of himself, actually, coming across so impressive even with his dick all hanging out and his arms folded across his chest, high spots of color on his cheeks.  
  
"That's kind of bullshit, right?" Ryan sounds amused, though, and he's moving closer to Brendon's cock, which can't feign disinterest like Brendon can.  
  
"Just a little bit. But not mostly." Brendon's pretty sure Ryan knows that anyway, if the way he's so well tuned to --this isn't going to...well, _fuck_.  
  
++++  
  
Ryan's texting furiously once he's got Brendon dressed and lined up with the bridesmaid he's accompanying down the aisle. Brendon has _got_ to know. **pete**...again? Brendon knows better than to be jealous of Pete; Patrick'd taken him aside the first time Pete had decided he'd taken a liking to Ryan and dragged him off for parts unknown, and he has a very expressive face, okay, and Patrick saw it and took him aside and told him why he never, ever had to be jealous of Pete. Just...is he telling Pete that he has no stamina? Because that was _years_ of built up love and adoration behind that orgasm.  
  
"Are you telling Pete that I have no stamina?" he whispers. "Because I'll have you know that was years of--"  
  
The bridesmaid at his arm tugs at his left mitt, and Brendon is cut off before he can finish his defense. First the photograph with a woman he recognizes from Ryan's magazine days, then the aisle. He can't remember who has the rights to this, probably Jon's magazine, but his face will be there, and Spencer's, and Tom's. It's Jon's wedding, it should be Jon's face.  
  
Brendon grins at Jon, at Cassie, at Spencer. Looks at Ryan as he takes his seat against the wall to watch, seriously debates blowing him a kiss. It's not like anyone would notice, who's looking at Brendon when Jon and Cassie are there _glowing_.  
  
Except maybe Ryan, who is, in fact, looking at Brendon. Brendon even looks behind himself to make sure.  
  
He kind of misses the wedding after that.  
  
A week later, Ryan hands him a wad of cash. "Three hundred and fifty dollars. Your half of our half. To do with as you wish. I think Joe's using his to buy another guitar. Yes, another one."  
  
Brendon hopes Ryan someday tells Pete what a buddy he is for letting them know about the pool. Someday, when all the money is spent. Perhaps right after Ryan has fucked him loose and pleasant. That'll be a nice day.


End file.
